When Caroline and I were dating, one of the things that attracted me most to her was the way she communicated with Alli (then 4 – or was she 3?), and I remember being a bit surprised by that. That I was attracted to her Mom-ness, if you will. But there was no denying it. Something about the way she spoke to her toddler was very appealing to me. And not in a creepy way, mind you. In a wholesome way. In an “I’d be so lucky to have a wife who was that good of a mother to my kids” kinda way.
I’m the bath guy, y’all. Have been for a good portion of my parenting life. That’s not to say that Caroline doesn’t administer baths. She certainly does. More than I have, if I had to guess (though I bet it’s close). Regardless, there have been little spurts here and there where I’ve been the guy in charge of all things squeaky and clean. And we’re currently in the middle of one such spurt. Which means I’m master of the washcloth, thank you very much.
I used to love giving the triplets a bath when they were Luke’s age for two primary reasons. First, I would usually bathe them individually, which meant I got to spend precious solo time with each. And second, because these baths went down during the witching hour, time was of the essence. Dilly dally too long and you’ve got yourself a meltdown fueled by overtired triplets. And that meant that I had to be quick and efficient with each bath which was a challenge. And I love challenges.
See that picture up there? It was taken about two months ago. To the casual observer, I’m sure it’s a very good likeness to Luke, indeed. But I can obviously tell it’s a dated shot of my junior-most associate because, you know, I’m his dad and all.
And the reason why I put it up is twofold. First — it’s an awfully cute picture — don’t you think? But second, this past Friday marked the first time I’d seen my baby in a full week, you know, since he and the rest of the crew went to the beach while I remained at home and made hot air balloons and whatnot. (Long story.) And I was amazed at how much my little guy had changed in that short amount of time.
This post is sponsored by Disney Baby. I’ll be joining the Disney Baby blogging team this month, and look forward to sharing these kinds of stories with you over there — stay tuned for more details.
Another quick note: not the best quality of picture, but it’s one of my very favorites pics ever. It was taken outside in our gazebo in January-ish and it was Luke’s first experience seeing a fire. He loved it, staring with wide blue eyes, dancing flames reflecting from each. Now, the post:
If you count dogs as children (and, seriously, who doesn’t?), then my oldest wouldn’t be Alli. It’d be Briggs. My youngest, of course, would be Luke. And like I mentioned yesterday, I’ve sorta been feeling guilty about having written so little about Luke, particularly as compared to his siblings.
Which is one reason why I was so excited to be asked by Disney to write for their new site DisneyBaby — it’s just the impetus I needed to spend some time hashing through and documenting my thoughts about my little blue-eyed man. Which is only appropriate given the fact that his impending arrival had given me great pause and was steeped in symbolism for me. Partly because I’m neurotic and tend to over-analyze things. (So wait, you’ve noticed? Wow. Okay. Well, where would you say I fall on the over-analytical continuum? Like 75th percentile-ish? A touch lower, maybe even? Because, seriously, I’m not that bad. I mean, you should see my Aunt Jill. NUT. BAG.)